


Rosa Regale

by La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)



Series: Queen of Thorns [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Court Factionalism, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, POV Minor Character, Pre-Canon, References to Sibling Incest (canonical), References to underage sex (canonical), Royalty in Compromising Positions, Uncivil War, emphasizin ur wimminz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/pseuds/La%20Reine%20Noire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life and history of Olenna Tyrell, Queen of Thorns</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory spoilers for all books including The World of Ice and Fire. This fic is, technically, a prequel to my 2011 story [Sub rosa](http://archiveofourown.org/works/261894), but can be read on its own. There are more specific notes at the end of each chapter.
> 
> The epigraph is a misquote from Ovid that translates to: "Often the tender rose produces prickly thorns." The original is _Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas_ ("Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses"). Thanks to angevin2 for Latin assistance. Many thanks to my beta-readers winter_of_our_discontent and Gehayi.
> 
> This fic has an accompanying gifset by the lovely [captainsphasma](http://captainsphasma.tumblr.com/) and can be found [HERE](http://captainsphasma.tumblr.com/post/134596605674/rosa-regale-written-by-la-reine-noire) on her Tumblr.

_Saepe creat asperas mollis rosa spinas_.

\-- Ovid

 

Olenna Redwyne was not beautiful but that was hardly a consideration when a potential bride brought with her a dowry measured in hundreds of casks of Arbor gold and the alliance of House Redwyne and its fleet. From the moment that she was old enough to join her parents for banquets, men looked into Olenna's eyes and lied. They lied with snippets of song, with the latest ballads and posies from King's Landing and Highgarden, but they lied all the same.

 

Redwynes were not known for their wits, so it was a blessing of the Seven that Olenna's mother was a Hightower of Oldtown who presented her daughter with books instead of looking-glasses. _You can win a kingdom with beauty_ , Yseult Hightower was known to have said, _but only wits will keep it for you_.

 

The Arbor, though nominally sworn to Highgarden, tended to keep aloof from most troubles on the mainland. No matter who won or lost, there would always be a market for Arbor wines. That might as well have been the Redwyne motto: _All men must drink_. When Olenna suggested it to her father, he laughed hard enough to nearly spill his own glass of strongwine--in his eyes, a sacrilege on par with blaspheming against the Seven beneath the stone eyes of Baelor the Blessed himself.

 

"Gods be good, wife, our child has a viper's tongue. What has that septa of yours been teaching her?"

 

Olenna just smiled and turned back to her book.


	2. Chapter 2

_Year 235 after the Conquest_

_Year 2 of King Aegon, Fifth of his Name_

 

It was Olenna's elder brother Ryam--named for a long-ago ancestor who became Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (no matter that he'd also been judged the worst Hand of the King in the history of that title)--who had been raised on songs. Songs of victory and glory in service of the dragonkings. Olenna wondered if one could still be a dragonking when the last dragon had died nearly a century before but knew better than to voice those thoughts aloud.

 

She had heard stories of other dragons, of course. Her parents frequently entertained merchants and captains, some of whom claimed that one could still find dragons in Asshai and the shadowlands beyond. Olenna had learnt very young the best places for a small girl to hide in order to listen to their stories. By the time she was old enough to join her parents in the hall, she could keep up with their conversations easily.

 

There was no question that Ryam would be sent to the mainland for fosterage; that was how alliances were made, after all. That and marriage, but Olenna was far too young yet. Or so her parents insisted, politely but firmly, every time the subject came up. There were any number of suitable candidates from the great Houses of the Reach, some even close to her in age. But the six years of winter waxed and waned and all the land slowly bloomed into spring, and Olenna remained unpromised. She learnt later that it was her mother's doing, her sharp-eyed, careful mother who received ravens daily from Oldtown with all the news and gossip from the court.

 

Ryam had been offered a place in Highgarden itself--a combined honour and burden that turned Lord Runceford nervously snappish for weeks. No doubt wine and coin too had changed hands, but this, Olenna knew, had more to do with politics than profit.

 

House Tyrell had held the Reach for the Targaryen kings since the Field of Fire. Theirs was a house of stewards, not kings; an equally dangerous but quite different game, especially given the recent culling of House Targaryen from illness and mischance that had put King Aegon, Fifth of that Name, upon the throne when Olenna was barely out of swaddling-clothes.

 

"The Unlikely, they called him, when the Great Council chose him," her father said to her mother the night before Olenna's seventh name-day. She ducked back behind the curtained doorway, careful as ever to breathe silently. "It's true, Yseult, and you know it."

 

"Well, one can hardly blame them," Olenna's mother remarked. "The Targaryens were dying like flies, Seven have mercy, and none left but drunkards and madmen's spawn."

 

"Thank the Seven the Brightflame was already dead. The Free Cities would have raised him as a pretender before the old King's body was cold. They say his children turned out to be simpletons, but better that than thinking yourself a bloody dragon."

 

"And better that than a kinslayer like his father." She could hear the swish of her mother's hairnet as she shook her head. "Enough. King Aegon has done well these past few years, and it seems we may be lucky yet."

 

"Lucky?"

 

"He has three sons. I shouldn't even bother with the eldest; he'll need to marry a girl from a great House. The second will need to mollify whichever is the strongest House his father refused. But the third...in exchange for wine and ships, my dear, you can ask for a great deal, and a daughter married to a prince is a fine trade."

 

"Olenna?"

 

"Have you another?" Laughter warmed her mother's tone. "She would make a fine lady of the Targaryens, don't you think?"

 

"A family of kinslayers, simpletons, and madmen?"

 

"A family of _kings_."

 

It seemed her father could think of no reasonable argument, though Olenna found him studying her more closely over the next several days. As for Olenna's mother, she merely tucked a letter into the saddlebag of the master-at-arms accompanying Ryam with orders that it be given only into the hands of Lady Tyrell. It was the last Olenna heard on the subject for another two years.

 

***

 

Olenna was careful to learn as much about her prospective family as she could. The history of the ruling family of the Seven Kingdoms was hardly an unorthodox interest, one her septa--a cheerful crone from Oldtown as full of obscure facts as she was scatterbrained about everything else--heartily encouraged.

 

She grew no more beautiful, but she cornered Maester Norgrove and made him teach her High Valyrian. It was said the Targaryens still spoke it amongst themselves, although nobody could confirm that rumour. There was also something distinctly satisfying about the curses, so at least it wasn't a complete waste.

 

Shortly before her ninth name-day, her mother announced that she would be joining Lady Aelinor Tyrell's train at Highgarden. "Your brother has been doing us credit as one of Lord Tyrell's squires. It is your turn to do the same for his lady."

 

"Of course, Mother. I will, as ever, strive to do you credit."

 

"You'll need to bridle that tongue of yours," she added, although Olenna could see the twitch of a smile. "Tyrells, much like Redwynes, are not renowned for wit."

 

"And what of Targaryens, Mother?" Olenna straightened in her chair. "Do you and Father still mean to propose an alliance?"

 

Her mother sighed and cast her eyes skyward. "I should have known. High Valyrian, indeed."

 

It was to her mother's credit that Olenna had never been explicitly reprimanded for eavesdropping. After all, how else was a woman to learn things unless she had trained a man to tell her? That would be the next step.

 

"All the more reason to mind your words, then. I know little of Targaryen wit, but all the world knows they're far thinner-skinned than one ought to be with dragon blood." Suddenly, Olenna found herself in her mother's arms, held tightly, and just as quickly released as her mother gripped her shoulders to look into her eyes. "Be wary, daughter. Remember, the direct path may not always be the wise one."

 

"I can be patient, Mother," Olenna said, resisting the urge to roll her own eyes in response. "I learnt it all at your knee."

 

"I know you can." She ignored the jibe. "Your danger, Olenna, is in underestimating your enemies. You are very clever, my dear, but there will always be those who are cleverer. The skill lies in knowing who they are. And in remembering their weaknesses. Kings have them, just as other men do."

 

"You mean the madness, don't you? Aerion Brightflame?"

 

"There has always been madness in the blood of Old Valyria, and the Targaryens distilled it for centuries." There was a frown between her mother's brows now. It was ill-advised to criticise the royal family's tendency to marry brother-to-sister that would have been unthinkable in any other house. As Olenna well knew, that had changed in recent years, with the Targaryens marrying into the houses of the Stormlands, Riverlands, and Dorne. King Aegon himself had married Black Betha Blackwood, but that had been a match made long before anyone expected him to take the throne. "That is beside the point. Write to me every week. You must be my eyes in Highgarden."

 

She nearly forgot to be dismissive then, her smile coming unbidden. "I will, Mother. I won't disappoint you."

 

"You'd best not," her mother retorted. "I expect to hear from Lady Tyrell that my daughter is the perfect lady."

 

"A lady is best seen and never heard," Olenna replied, straight-faced, "the better that she may hear others."

 

"Precisely."

 

***

 

If Olenna were honest with herself, she would be forced to admit that, despite having spent half a year in Highgarden without a single word on the subject, she had barely thought of her possible marriage since arriving. Her life on the Arbor hadn't been idle by any standard but Highgarden had a household near thrice that size and therefore thrice as many chores and responsibilities. The seemingly lazy afternoons spent entertaining courtiers in pleasure barges on the Mander masked a whirl of activity amongst Lady Tyrell's attendants--since the lord of Highgarden had four young sons and nary a single daughter, his lady wife lavished untold attentions on her ladies-in-waiting. Olenna was the youngest by several years, but that--coupled with her sharp tongue--only made her Lady Tyrell's pet, usually set to carry her train or her fan and to offer her well-placed opinions on everything she saw.

 

From the prettiest of Lady Tyrell's attendants, Olenna learnt how to alter her gowns and balance in shoes with teetering heels to make herself taller, and from the plainest, she learnt the gossip. When first she wrote to her mother, it was with everything she heard, but she soon found herself considering each story before sending it on. Some, she set aside for herself; others she passed to her mother like a queen with favours.

 

The news concerning Olenna's future, however, did not come from her mother but from Lady Tyrell, who called her into the great octagonal solar at the top of one of Highgarden's dozens of towers. Also waiting there was her eldest son Lord Luthor, some five years Olenna's senior, with the dark hair and eyes that marked Highgarden's scions.

 

Olenna made her obeisance and, as always, retreated just a little to give Luthor Tyrell pride of place. Lady Tyrell smiled even as her son studied her in perplexity. "The king has bestowed a great honour upon Highgarden, Luthor. You are to marry his daughter, Princess Shaera."

 

Luthor's eyes widened. "When, Mother?"

 

"Oh, not for some years yet. Not until her elder brothers marry. Prince Duncan is to wed Lord Baratheon's daughter Argella and Prince Jaehaerys the daughter of Lord Tully of Riverrun."

 

Olenna took this in, keeping her face carefully blank. King Aegon had four children and what better way to keep the great lords of the south loyal than to bind them by marriage? He and Lord Baratheon had been close friends for years and Queen Betha's sister was married to Lord Tully, but after the terrible winter that had only just begun to lift, it made perfect sense to join the crown with the wealth and plenty of Highgarden as well.

 

She didn't realise Lady Tyrell was speaking to her until Luthor prodded her with one hand. Olenna curtsied on instinct. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

 

"Daydreaming, Olenna?" Lady Tyrell laughed. "Not without reason, I admit. What were you thinking about?"

 

"Three of the king's children are to be wed. What of the others, my lady?"

 

"On point as ever. Princess Shaera is...delicate, so the king and queen have seen fit to keep her in Summerhall for her health. Instead, Prince Daeron will be coming here as a ward of Highgarden, and when the time comes, he will become your husband, Olenna."

 

She knew that; she'd known it for years, hadn't she? Her lady mother had planned on a royal match for Olenna and she had known Queen Betha as a young girl, before she'd caught the eye of then-Prince Aegon. But Olenna couldn't hide her triumphant smile as she curtsied again. "I am honoured, my lady."

 

"As you should be. Your mother asked me to give you the news myself. She thought that better than telling you in writing, but I have a letter for you as well."

 

Highgarden was filled with alcoves and secret corners--true to its name, some were actual tiny gardens tucked amidst the battlements and white towers. It was not a castle built for defence but for pleasure, and first the Gardeners and later the Tyrells had relied far more on their vast levies and wealth to protect them than simple stones and mortar. It was to one of those small gardens that Olenna retreated while Luthor Tyrell remained with his mother, presumably to learn more about his future betrothed.

 

Lady Yseult's letter was short and to the point, as ever, but Olenna was smiling as she read it through, hearing every word in her mother's wry voice. _This is only the beginning, daughter. King Aegon wishes to ally House Targaryen to as many of the Lords Paramount as he can manage. It remains to be seen if he will succeed_.

 

It never occurred to Olenna that he might not. A king's children were bound to obey him, no more and no less than a lord's children were bound to their father's will. It was true that King Aegon himself had met and wooed Black Betha Blackwood of his own accord, but the previous king had been his uncle, not his father, and nobody had even considered that Aegon, the youngest of four sons, might take the throne.

 

There were rumours and stories aplenty, of course, of King Aegon's grand plans for the realm, and murmurs amongst the lords who visited Highgarden that the king sought to trample their ancient sovereignties on account of his strange love for the smallfolk. But those rumours quieted somewhat with the arrival of Prince Daeron, a boy of Olenna's age with an impish smile who immediately attached himself to Luthor Tyrell and, more importantly, listened wide-eyed to any opinions Olenna aired.

 

In her next letter to her mother, she thanked her for providing her such a suitable husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryam Redwyne was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for Jaehaerys I. In 99 AC, after the death of Septon Barth, he was named Hand of the King, but lasted less than a year in the office and was replaced by the king's son Baelon.
> 
> We don't know who Olenna Tyrell's mother was, so I've taken the liberty of making her a Hightower of Oldtown, which seems like a reasonable choice.


	3. Chapter 3

_Year 239 after the Conquest_

_Year 6 of King Aegon, Fifth of his Name_

 

For two years, there was no question that the king and queen's marriage plans would be a resounding success. Argella Baratheon was already being called Princess of Dragonstone, at least within her family's hearing, while a regular stream of trinkets bearing the Tyrell rose made their way from Highgarden to Princess Shaera in Summerhall. Olenna prided herself on having chosen the finest of them herself, while the princess' betrothed and younger brother gave sheepish and helpless shrugs.

 

"You really are hopeless," she remarked, after both of them declined to offer an opinion on two distinctly different lockets intended for Princess Shaera's name-day. "Must I do everything myself?"

 

"You don't seem to mind," Daeron pointed out, ducking as Olenna aimed one small fist at his shoulder. "I mean it, though! I sometimes think you prefer it this way."

 

She sniffed. All of Princess Shaera's letters to Luthor Tyrell were perfectly crafted, thanking him for his gifts, but the princess herself had yet to visit Highgarden in person. Lord and Lady Tyrell had made one visit to Summerhall with their son and Daeron the previous year, but there had been no reason to take Olenna along in spite of her curiosity.

 

They were now at the height of summer, the six-year winter a faraway memory as Highgarden's flowers bloomed and the Reach prospered. Ryam, knighted by Lord Tyrell, returned to the Arbor after marrying Lyonesse Florent, and the last letter Olenna had from her mother had announced that her new good-daughter was expecting her first child by the year's end.

 

Olenna's eleventh name-day came and went with little but satisfying ceremony--a picnic by the Mander, two new gowns from Lady Tyrell, and a lavishly illustrated book of tales of the Free Cities from Daeron. Luthor had even given her a gift of his own, a small jewel-box with a secret spring that revealed a hidden compartment in the base. He'd blushed to his ears when Olenna thanked him for it with genuine surprise. _I saw it in Ashford Market and it seemed like the sort of thing you'd like_. She'd almost asked him why he needed her help in choosing gifts for his betrothed when he was so clearly capable of finding items ladies would enjoy, but decided against it.

 

That there was a large tourney planned for three weeks afterward had nothing to do with Olenna and everything to do with the fact that Prince Duncan had spent the past eight moon's turns making a circuit of the kingdom on the king's behalf and Highgarden was his final stop before returning to King's Landing. A massive party from Storm's End was due to attend the tourney and join him for the journey north along the Roseroad that would end in the Great Sept of Baelor with the wedding of Prince Duncan and Lady Argella.

 

To Daeron's disappointment, Princess Shaera was not coming, as she had been stricken with a summer fever several weeks past and forbidden from travelling. If Luthor was disappointed, Olenna couldn't tell. She suspected not, but boys were silly creatures. Both Daeron and Luthor were far more interested in when Lord Tyrell was going to name his son a knight and who would then join Daeron as his second squire.

 

She found the two of them sharing a wineskin on the battlements overlooking the Great Hall, but their expressions quashed the greeting she'd initially meant to give them. Daeron passed the wineskin to Luthor, who took a long swallow before speaking. "There was a raven from King's Landing. Mother and Father have been locked in Father's study with Maester Selwyn for hours now."

 

"Bad news, you think?" Daeron's fingers were fiddling with his belt buckle as he always did when he was nervous. "I just had a letter from Summerhall. Shaera said she was feeling much better..." he trailed off, biting his lip. "But they say fevers can come back."

 

"If it were anything like that," Olenna told him, "I'm sure Lord and Lady Tyrell would have told you by now." They had told Daeron of his sister's most recent illness as soon as the raven arrived, after all. Which meant this must be somewhat else. "Was it just Maester Selwyn with them, or anyone else?"

 

Before Luthor could answer her, echoes of shouting rose from the courtyard below and the three of them ran for the battlements to peer down. Lord Tyrell was standing on the steps leading to the Great Hall, his face pale and grave as he addressed the handful of lords and bannermen who had arrived early to prepare for the tourney. "I'm afraid Prince Duncan will not be attending the tourney as was intended. I have sent word to Lord Baratheon and Lady Argella. It will be a disappointment, no doubt, but the tourney will continue as planned."

 

Daeron's face fell and Olenna squeezed his hand. "I'm sure there's a reason."

 

"I just hope he's all right." It hadn't been so long ago that a Blackfyre army had landed on Massey's Hook and the king himself had gone to battle. Never mind that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Prince Duncan's namesake had struck down the third Daemon Blackfyre at Wendwater Bridge and driven Lord Bittersteel and his sellswords back across the Narrow Sea. Daeron had once commented that the Blackfyres were like flies--it was impossible to rid the realm of them.

 

Lord Tyrell glanced up at them now and made a sharp motion. Luthor stepped back from the battlements. "He wants to see us." Although he likely meant Luthor and Daeron alone, Olenna had long ago learnt that if she followed them and stayed quiet, she could learn a great deal unnoticed.

 

When they reached Lord Tyrell's study, Lady Tyrell was waiting, her embroidery forgotten in her lap as she gazed from the window at the calm waters of the Mander below. Though she gave them a wan smile, she said nothing. When Lord Tyrell entered, he scarcely seemed to notice his son or Olenna, his attention fully focused on Daeron.

 

Lord Tyrell closed the door behind him with a sigh. "Prince Daeron, there is a question I must put to you and I ask that you answer me truthfully."

 

"Of course, my lord," said Daeron, looking puzzled. "Is it about my brother? Is he all right?"

 

"Prince Duncan is well, so far as I know." Lord Tyrell sat down at the massive goldenwood table inlaid with green stone vines and carved with golden Tyrell roses. "When did he last write to you?"

 

Daeron frowned. "Three moon's turns, maybe? He had just left Raventree Hall and was going to see my lady aunt in Riverrun before turning south. I sent a message but I think I must have missed him. Why, my lord?"

 

"Did he mention anything...odd to you?"

 

"Odd how? Duncan says odd things all the time," Daeron admitted, looking sheepish. "Not as odd as Jaehaerys, but..." He stopped and straightened. "What's happened, my lord?"

 

"We've had a message from King's Landing. Prince Duncan is married."

 

Olenna's blood pounded in her ears and she had to fight not to demand the full story right then and there. Daeron looked as he did when someone landed an unexpected blow in the tiltyard. "But Lady Argella is on her way here, my lord. Unless..."

 

"Not to Lady Argella. To a woman named Jenny of Oldstones."

 

***

 

By the end of the tourney, the name _Jenny of Oldstones_ was on everyone's lips. Olenna couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of pity for Argella Baratheon, who had apparently been thrown over for a common girl, but the blue-eyed daughter of Storm's End merely glared at anyone who mentioned the name in her presence and continued to refer to Prince Duncan as her intended. Her father Lord Lyonel proceeded as though nothing were amiss, his famed smile only faltering a little at the sight of Daeron arming Lord Tyrell for the lists. While both Daeron and his elder brother had Queen Betha's famed dark eyes, Daeron's hair was as pale as any Targaryen.

 

He hadn't spoken of Prince Duncan since Lord Tyrell gave him the news, but his face had a pinched look about it, and every time Olenna had sought him out, he'd contrived to be elsewhere. Luthor, noticing this, gave her a brief smile. _He knows you're curious and will drag it out of him. Give him time_.

 

Well and so. She could be patient.

 

Daeron and Luthor were still squires and unable to join the tourney proper, but they showed off their skills at the quintain early on the third day of the tourney and Daeron gallantly presented his prize to Olenna. Beside her, Argella Baratheon sniffed. "At least _some_ Targaryens have a sense of propriety."

 

"Daeron and I understand each other," said Olenna proudly.

 

"You're just children," the older girl snapped. "He'll disappoint you eventually. Men always do."

 

Stung, Olenna turned back to the lists, where the quintain had been cleared away and the first competitors of the day--one of the red-apple Fossoways and a young man from the Westerlands whose sigil she didn't immediately recognise--were preparing to meet one another. Just because Prince Duncan had been a disappointment didn't mean all of the king's sons would be.

 

There was no further news from King's Landing until all the guests had departed after the tourney, and when it did arrive, it came not from the king himself but by way of a lathered messenger from Storm's End and a letter from Lord Baratheon written in such rage that his words had nearly ripped through the paper.

 

Daeron crept out of Lord Tyrell's study pale as a ghost and found Olenna waiting for him with a lamp. Taking her arm in silence, he led her down the corridor and out into one of the smaller knot gardens tucked like jewels into the walls of Highgarden.

 

"Duncan has renounced his title. My father gave him a choice--break off his marriage or lose his crown--and he made it. Jaehaerys is now heir to the throne." Which made Daeron the next in line after him, Olenna realised with a jolt. She would be Princess of Summerhall.

 

"It's like a story from a song," she murmured. There were songs aplenty about the things lords and ladies would sacrifice for love, but nobody ever truly _believed_ them. Or so she'd thought. "Those things aren't supposed to happen."

 

"No, they aren't. Lord Baratheon knows it too. It's why he's so angry. He thinks Father should have forced Duncan, maybe even imprisoned him or..." he shook his head. "He says Duncan's wife is a whore who has brought shame on House Baratheon and that he intends to answer to Father for it." His eyes met Olenna's, strikingly dark in the lamplight. "He's asked Lord Tyrell to support him."

 

"You don't mean go to war, do you? Isn't that treason?"

 

Daeron shrugged. "The Blackfyres never thought they were committing treason. Lord Baratheon doesn't either--he thinks that Father breaking his word is reason enough. And there are plenty of lords who are angry with Father for other reasons and will take any excuse they're offered."

 

Lord Tyrell, however, wasn't one of them. After all, his son was still betrothed to Princess Shaera. Olenna wrote to her mother that very night, although she suspected Lady Yseult already knew more of what had happened between Duncan Targaryen and the mysterious Jenny than she did. Indeed, Olenna's letter had scarcely left Highgarden when one arrived from her mother.

 

 _She is indeed a common girl, but the rumours say a great deal more. She consorts with witches and the children of the forest, or so they claim. Whether or not these things are true, the smallfolk believe them and there is some power in that. What remains to be seen is what the king will do. One son has defied him, but he has two more_.

 

From Storm's End, however, the news was grimmer. Lord Baratheon's bannermen proclaimed him the Storm King, the first since the fall of House Durrandon to Aegon the Conqueror. _An empty gesture_ , wrote Olenna's mother, but a dangerous one nonetheless, and an insult that the king would have no choice but to answer.

 

Lord Tyrell was ordered to raise as many men as could be mustered on short notice and march to Storm's End while the Targaryen fleet sailed from Dragonstone to cut off the citadel by sea. Had there been more time, Olenna was certain her father's levies from the Arbor would have been called, but haste was more important than numbers. Somehow--and nobody was able to say what prompted it--Lord Baratheon was convinced to brave the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in single combat.

 

Afterward, Daeron told her the story. "Lord Baratheon had met Ser Duncan years ago in Ashford, when he was still a hedge knight and my father the king younger than me." Prince Duncan's namesake faced Lord Baratheon in the courtyard of Storm's End and the two fought for nearly two hours before the Laughing Storm, some fifteen years older than his opponent, was forced to surrender both the combat and his short-lived rebellion.

 

"My father," said Daeron, "didn't want that defeat to fester any worse, so he offered Lord Baratheon my youngest sister Rhaelle as a bride for his son Lord Ormund. She's to leave King's Landing for Storm's End as soon as possible."

 

A hostage for the king's good behaviour, Olenna supposed. "What of Lady Argella?"

 

Daeron shrugged. "I didn't see her there. I suppose she'll be married too, sooner or later. At least it's all over now."

 

From everything Olenna had read, she had her doubts, but puncturing Daeron's hopes seemed unnecessarily cruel, so she held her tongue.

 

***

 

Lady Argella Baratheon did marry by the year's end, and became Lady of Nightsong. Early the next year, Lord Caron proudly sent word to Highgarden and Oldtown alike that his lovely young wife was with child, and even Lord Baratheon in Storm's End was said to have smiled at the news. Daeron's latest letter from his sister Rhaelle confirmed this. _He does smile more than people say, but he is the Laughing Storm no more, thanks to our brother_.

 

"Poor Rhaelle," Daeron commented with a sigh. "It's not her fault and I'm sure Lord Baratheon knows that, but it can't be easy for her there."

 

"I'm sure it's easier now that Lady Argella is gone," replied Olenna. "I should like to meet your sister sometime."

 

"Mayhap when Luthor marries Shaera. I doubt Father will want her to travel all the way to King's Landing, and if they marry at Summerhall it's not so far from Storm's End." He tucked the letter into his doublet and gave Olenna a brief smile. "I wish she'd write to Luthor more often. I swear he forgets about her unless I bring her up."

 

Olenna squeezed his hand. "Luthor would forget his own head if it weren't attached to his neck and we both know that. Even Jeremy knows it and he's scarcely been here half a year."

 

Jeremy Norridge had made enough of an impression on Lord Tyrell at the previous year's tourney to distract him from Lord Baratheon. Now that Luthor had also been knighted, Lord Tyrell was in need of an additional squire, so Jeremy took Luthor's place, no small feat for a young man from a tiny holdfast near the Sunset Sea.

 

"He'll be good to your sister. You'll see."

 

But it wasn't two more moon's turns before chaos once again erupted, this time in the form of an unplanned visit from Queen Betha herself. She arrived in the middle of the afternoon with a guard of two hundred, and though she greeted Lady Tyrell with a fond embrace, Olenna could see the lines of strain around her mouth and her famous eyes.

 

"Aelinor, I wish my visit were in better circumstances," she said without preamble. The queen, from what Olenna had heard, was blunt-spoken almost to the point of rudeness. "I'm afraid I must once again tender my deepest regrets and apologies for my children."

 

Aware of the audience they'd attracted, Lady Tyrell took the queen by the arm and led her away from the courtyard. It was only later in the evening that Olenna found out the full truth--that Prince Jaehaerys had slipped away from King's Landing to Summerhall, where he and Princess Shaera were secretly married.

 

"Mother's mercy," Olenna murmured, sinking onto a cushioned bench. It had been years since any Targaryen had married a sibling and the last ones she'd only heard referred to as the mad twins, both of whom had met violent ends. King Aegon had only now managed to mend relations with Storm's End and the gods alone knew how Lord Tyrell and Lord Tully would react to the breakdown of their alliances.

 

She went in search of Daeron but instead found Luthor in one of the alcoves in the great gallery, staring down at the empty tiltyard below. When he saw her, he smiled faintly. "I take it you've heard."

 

"I'm so sorry."

 

"I'm not," he admitted, meeting her eyes. "I didn't know her. Father was so proud that House Tyrell was finally going to see a royal marriage, but...I don't know. I just don't want him to blame Daeron. It's not his fault."

 

"Of course it isn't," Olenna said fiercely, settling beside him on the window seat. "It's no more Daeron's fault than it is yours. And, besides, she married her own brother. She might be mad."

 

"You shouldn't say that, Olenna," Luthor hissed. "You're still betrothed to Daeron."

 

"I never said all of them were mad," retorted Olenna with a shrug. "You're probably better off without her."

 

"You know," ventured Luthor after a few moments, "you shouldn't say _everything_ that's on your mind."

 

"And why not? What would you have me do instead, hm? Princess Shaera wrote sweet letters from Summerhall and look at where that brought you."

 

"I just hope she's happy."

 

Olenna studied him, frowning. "You really mean that."

 

"Of course I do. Prince Duncan married for love, so his brother and sister thought they could too. I don't understand their choice, but I can understand why they did it." He looked down at his hands and Olenna realised she'd taken them in hers without thinking. "If you truly thought you would be happy with someone who wasn't Daeron, would you break your betrothal?"

 

"How do you know I'm not in love with Daeron?"

 

"Because you're Olenna Redwyne, and you're too clever for love."

 

She couldn't help smiling at that. "You should learn by my example."

 

"Wanting someone to be happy isn't the same as being in love with them. You want Daeron to be happy."

 

"Yes. While being married to me and living at Summerhall."

 

There was something in Luthor's answering smile that Olenna couldn't quite pin down, but before she could probe further, one of the servants entered the gallery to light the candles and she dropped Luthor's hands on instinct.

 

Lord Tyrell made his disappointment known, but the combined forces of Lady Tyrell, Luthor, and Queen Betha seemed to keep things under control. After a fortnight, the queen headed north to the Riverlands, where she'd grown up. Her younger sister had married Lord Tully and Lady Celia, who had no doubt spent the past year imagining herself Queen on the Iron Throne, was her niece. Whether that would be enough to mollify Lord Tully remained to be seen.

 

Olenna would have been lying to herself if she tried to say the thought of being queen hadn't occurred to her. King Aegon had not, so far as she knew, issued the same ultimatum to his second son as he had to his eldest, but Daeron was nonetheless one step closer to the throne thanks to Prince Duncan's lapse of judgement, and neither Prince Jaehaerys nor Princess Shaera were in the best of health.

 

These thoughts, she kept locked away. In spite of what Luthor Tyrell thought, there were many things in Olenna's mind that she did not speak aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to TWOIAF, Aegon V, with the help of his wife Betha Blackwood, betrothed four out of his five children to the children of various Lords Paramount in 237 AC: Prince Duncan to an unnamed daughter of Lord Lyonel Baratheon (who has no canonical name, so I chose to name her Argella), Prince Jaehaerys to Lady Celia Tully, Princess Shaera to Luthor Tyrell, and Prince Daeron to Olenna Redwyne. Two years later, however, Duncan fell in love with Jenny of Oldstones and relinquished his place in the succession to Jaehaerys.
> 
> The defiance of his children (first Duncan, then Jaehaerys and Shaera, who married one another) was one of many problems that Aegon V faced during his reign, but despite the threat of rebellion, he managed to remain on his throne until the events at Summerhall in 259 AC. As such, I've tried to explain why the later broken betrothals prompted a less violent response than the first.
> 
> We don't know anything about Celia Tully from canon except for her name and that her father was the lord of Riverrun at the time that she was betrothed to Prince Jaehaerys. Since Hoster Tully was likely born between 237-40 AC given how old he is in canon, I have chosen to make Celia his older sister. I've also chosen to have the previous Lord Tully (Celia, Hoster, and Brynden's father) married to a Blackwood, thus partly explaining that particular choice for a potential Targaryen alliance.


	4. Chapter 4

_Year 244 after the Conquest_

_Year 11 of King Aegon, fifth of his Name_

 

It was perhaps fitting that news of Lord Lyonel Baratheon's death arrived at Highgarden on an especially blustery day. The Laughing Storm had died peacefully in his bed after all the storms of his later days, leaving his son Ormund as Lord of Storm's End.

 

 _He was a good man and good to me_ , wrote Daeron's sister Princess Rhaelle, _in spite of Father and Duncan_. She was still betrothed to Lord Ormund, ten years her senior, but he was unwilling to marry her until she was at least ten and five. It was a sensible decision, Olenna had to admit, and one that no doubt endeared him to King Aegon.

 

There had been no further discussion of Luthor's marriage after the breakdown of his betrothal to Princess Shaera. Olenna had half-wondered if Lord Tyrell and Lord Tully would make good their losses by marrying Luthor to Lady Celia, but the months went by and nothing happened. Some of the young men, led by Luthor's younger brother Garth, had tried to corner Daeron in the tiltyard shortly afterward, but the timely arrival of both Luthor and Jeremy Norridge allowed Daeron to escape with a few bruises and his attackers to learn that it _was_ possible to anger Luthor Tyrell. Olenna supposed it was a useful lesson for all.

 

In the meantime, Princess Shaera had given birth to a son in King's Landing late in the previous year, thus pushing Daeron one step further from the throne, though he hardly seemed to care. He did pay a visit to the Red Keep to celebrate his nephew's birth and returned with plenty of stories to satisfy Olenna's curiosity. Unlike Luthor, Daeron at least paid attention to the people around him.

 

"Duncan was there, and Lady Jenny too."

 

"Lady Jenny?" echoed Olenna. "The king permitted that?" Of course, King Aegon had always favoured the smallfolk and the romantic tale of Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones had become the subject of songs and stories across the realm. "She must be very beautiful."

 

Daeron looked at her for a moment before speaking. "I don't know. She's different from the other ladies in King's Landing. Here too. She sings and tells stories and there's something..." he shook his head. "I don't know. I can't explain it."

 

"You don't need to," said Olenna, taking pity on him. "I'll meet her sooner or later, I'm sure, and then I can make up my own mind." The smallfolk told tales of witches and children of the forest, but Olenna knew better than to believe children's stories. "They call your brother the Prince of Dragonflies now."

 

"They do," he replied with a small smile. "He likes it better than Duncan the Small. And he's happier now than I remember him being."

 

Olenna certainly hoped so after the mess he'd created, but she had learned long ago that Daeron hero-worshipped his eldest brother and the Kingsguard knight for whom he'd been named. "That's something, then."

 

Since his return to Highgarden, Daeron had been spending most of his time training in arms with Jeremy Norridge. Now nearing fifty, Lord Tyrell had all but retired from the lists, but his master-at-arms had taken over training his squires while he spent hours closeted with Luthor in his study or beside him as he took petitions in the Great Hall. After a particularly long discussion with several envoys from Casterly Rock, Luthor retreated from the dais in the Great Hall and sank onto a cushioned bench beside Olenna, who had been watching with Lady Tyrell and her other attendants from a distance.

 

"Gods be good," he muttered, "I think my head might explode."

 

Olenna grinned. "That bad?"

 

"Lord Gerold Lannister is dead, and according to my father, this means that the Westerlands are about to destroy themselves under his son, and as such, we should take advantage of it." Luthor shook his head.

 

"Is his son so incompetent?" Gerold Lannister had been well-loved and it was always difficult for sons to follow such fathers.

 

"Lord Tytos? I've only met him once and he seemed decent enough, but Father is the one with spies and he says that Lord Gerold exhausted himself in the last few years trying to settle his bannermen so his son would have less trouble with them." He gave her a rueful smile. "Father then told me he was grateful not to have had to do the same for me."

 

"I told you he was proud of you."

 

"I know you did. And he said it was difficult for him, too, when he was my age. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be Leo Longthorn's son, with that shadow over him. Perhaps Lord Tytos feels the same way."

 

Olenna wrote to her mother later that evening, but left out Luthor's confession about his father, telling herself it wasn't relevant. Her mother wrote back the following week, full of news about Olenna's nephew Paxter, now nearing his fourth name-day. Lady Lyonesse was with child again, and only at the end of the letter did Olenna's mother enquire as to whether or not the king had notified Prince Daeron of when he and Olenna were to marry.

 

As she read the words a second time, Olenna frowned. She and Daeron scarcely ever discussed their wedding. That they were still betrothed was without question; he'd never shown interest in any of the ladies who sometimes flirted with him, and if he'd had doubts about Olenna, she knew he would have told her. But she did sometimes wonder if he forgot that she was to be his wife and not just his friend.

 

Not that she could say that to her mother. Perhaps she would ask Luthor. Rather than delay her letter, she wrote something vague about the king and queen being distracted by their new grandson and that she was sure something would be decided soon. Seemingly taking the hint, Olenna's mother did not press further.

 

Indeed, Olenna found more important things to concern herself as the months stretched onward. She was now among the most senior of Lady Tyrell's attendants, not entirely by chance since Delena Middlebury had found herself with child by a singer and it was only a matter of time before her indiscretion saw her sent home in disgrace. Though she was only seven and ten, Olenna had spent nearly half her life in Highgarden now and knew the castle like the back of her hand. The younger ladies were already coming to her for advice and counsel, and she found Lady Tyrell watching her wistfully more often than not.

 

One day, Lady Tyrell had given all of her attendants the afternoon to themselves, as a travelling fair had stopped near Highgarden with mummers and peddlers and other things of note. "Will you not join them, Olenna?" she asked, on finding Olenna in her customary place by the window of her solar.

 

"I heard this particular troupe of mummers is vastly inferior to the ones who came through three weeks past," replied Olenna. "The girls will learn soon enough to tell the difference."

 

"And if they don't learn on their own, you'll teach them, no doubt."

 

"As you taught me, my lady."

 

"Liar." Lady Tyrell laughed. "I scarcely had to teach you anything. Your mother would be proud of you."

 

Though she only smiled a little, Olenna could feel herself glowing with pride. "You're too kind, my lady."

 

"I shall miss you terribly, you know, when you marry," sighed Lady Tyrell. "If it were anyone other than Prince Daeron..." she trailed off.

 

After a moment's hesitation, Olenna ventured, "My lady?"

 

"It doesn't matter. He's a lucky young man, though he may not know it yet. And I shall suggest to the queen that she send Princess Rhaella to Summerhall for fostering with you after you marry. It would do her good, I'm sure, when she's old enough."

 

Princess Shaera had recently given birth to a daughter, while her elder good-sister Lady Jenny remained childless after nearly six years of marriage to Prince Duncan. Olenna was certain this was on purpose, but Daeron had refused to confirm her suspicions one way or the other. Now, she lowered her eyes with a smile. "I would like that very much, my lady."

 

She hoped Lady Tyrell would say more, but instead she turned back to her letters, and did not speak to Olenna again until she was ready to have a messenger pick them up. Shortly afterward, the girls returned, full of laughter and gossip. Marielle Meadows had admitted to being sweet on Jeremy Norridge, much to his visible embarrassment. Olenna resolved to speak to him when she next had the chance; it was a good match, especially since Marielle's elder brother was known to be simple and her children were likely to inherit Grassy Vale. And Jeremy wasn't a bad-looking young man--tall and broad-shouldered with straw-coloured hair and brown eyes--even if he was constantly overshadowed by Daeron.

 

It was several days before Olenna successfully tracked down Jeremy by way of several pages and a harried-looking Luthor who pointed vaguely in the direction of the briar labyrinth. Rolling her eyes, Olenna picked up her skirts and made her way into the maze.

 

When she had first arrived at Highgarden, the winter had taken its toll, leaving the once-proud labyrinth bare of leaves if not quite dead. Olenna had taken pains to learn her way through it during those early months of spring, but after years of summer, the blooms and thick green vines were enough that even she found herself getting turned around.

 

"...can't postpone it forever, you know," said a man's voice, echoing eerily from somewhere to her left. "If you don't make a decision, that's a decision in itself." It was Jeremy, she realised after a moment, sounding more agitated than she'd ever heard. "Whatever you do, I will stand by you. You _know_ that. But, damn it all, you can't just pretend that nothing has changed when the whole world is different now."

 

Olenna slowed her steps and, reaching down, unbuckled her shoes. Her stockinged feet made little to no noise on the gravel path as she crept through the labyrinth toward the voice. She had to be close to the heart by now, which must be where Jeremy was.

 

"I know it's hard. Seven hells, of course it is. You're the last one and you're the only one who hasn't been a disappointment--"

 

"I can't do that to him, Jeremy." Olenna stopped short at the sound of Daeron's voice. "More than that, I can't do it to Olenna. Can you imagine how much it would hurt her?"

 

"Wait a minute, Daeron. Are you saying she doesn't know?"

 

"Of course she doesn't know! What kind of man tells his betrothed about... _this_?"

 

"But she knows _everything_."

 

"Not this, Jeremy. This is the one thing that I can swear to you on my honour Olenna doesn't know."

 

She was close enough now to hear the splash of the fountain marking the heart of the labyrinth. There were also two rose bowers, white and golden, and benches made of marble inlaid with semi-precious stones. It was a lovers' hideaway and everyone in Highgarden knew it.

 

 _The one thing Olenna doesn't know_.

 

Except now she did. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning through her skull, she _knew_. Even before she rounded the corner and watched as Daeron tugged Jeremy close for the kind of careless, intimate kiss that bespoke it having happened a thousand times before.

 

The kiss seemed to last forever, Jeremy's fingers tangled in Daeron's silver-gilt hair as Olenna's never had. _I should be furious. I should be screaming_. But instead she just stood there, her slippers dangling uselessly from one hand. And when they finally broke apart, still she did not speak.

 

Jeremy was the first to see her, his eyes widening in horror. "Daeron, it's--"

 

Her betrothed spun on his heel to face her. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. Some part of her couldn't help but observe that he'd never looked more appealing and she hated herself for that. "You were right," she heard herself say, voice tight and shrill. "I didn't know. Not until now."

 

"Olenna--"

 

"Were you going to tell me? When? After we married? Or were you going to wait till I found you myself? I suppose I've saved you the trouble."

 

"I didn't want to hurt you," he pleaded. "Please believe me, Olenna. I care about you, I always have, but..."

 

"But you _want_ him," she retorted, gesturing toward Jeremy, who was desperately struggling into his doublet and looking anywhere but at her. "I'm not blind, Daeron, nor am I stupid."

 

"I didn't know what to do. My brothers and my sister have caused so much pain. The last thing I wanted to do was follow them in that."

 

"You're going to cause pain no matter what you do," Olenna told him, her gaze moving to Jeremy, who refused to meet her eyes. He looked miserable. They both did. As she watched them, it occurred to her that she was the arbiter of all three of their fates. _I could expose them, make them suffer for this_. It would be easy and after what the king's other children had done, she would not lack for sympathy.

 

"What do you want?" Daeron finally asked, so softly she could barely hear him. "I'll do whatever you want."

 

Olenna shook her head as she retreated several steps. "I don't know. I need time, I need...I need to think."

 

"Let her go, Daeron," Jeremy said, one hand on Daeron's arm. "There's nothing more to be done now."

 

Another of those gestures, thoughtless and casual. How long had this been happening? How blind had she been? Sympathy was all well and good, but Olenna could imagine the pity in people's eyes as they looked at her and it made her sick to her stomach.

 

She dropped her slippers on the ground, shoved her feet into them, and ran back into the labyrinth, uncaring of where she went or how lost she became. She ran until it hurt to breathe, and as soon as she came to a halt, she realised that she wasn't crying. _I should be crying. I should..._ But Olenna had so rarely done what she should.

 

She could still marry Daeron. Jeremy Norridge was nobody; without an advantageous marriage or a lord to support him, he would spend the rest of his life as a hedge knight. She owed him nothing. _But Daeron would never forgive me for that_. But what then? Become Princess of Summerhall knowing her husband was carrying on with one of his knights? Targaryens were anything but subtle; all the world would know sooner or later.

 

 _It could be far worse. Think of Queen Naerys_. It hadn't been so long ago that Aegon the Unworthy had ruled from King's Landing with his endless parade of mistresses and his poor, shamed queen. Ladies from Oldtown to Winterfell endured their husbands' infidelities, and Olenna at least had the advantage of knowing in advance. There was even a special word for a sanctioned lover in Dorne, but everyone knew the Dornish were mad. _And Daeron has Dornish blood twice over_. His grandsire had married a Dayne of Starfall and long before that, Daeron II had wed Myriah Martell to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms once and for all.

 

At least Daeron claimed that he cared for her. He might try to be discreet. _That might be enough_.

 

She began to walk again, letting the hush of the labyrinth calm her somewhat. Even amidst the bustle of Highgarden, the briars and hedges muffled the sound. She couldn't remember where she was now, had lost track of the small signs and signals she'd memorised long ago. With a sigh, she continued forward.

 

Somewhere ahead, she could hear footsteps--a man's heavy tread--and slipped to one side of the path, partly hidden by the hedge. Her gown was deep Redwyne blue patterned with purple, and did not blend one bit with her surroundings, but Olenna was adept at hiding in plain sight.

 

She changed her mind when the man rounded the corner and revealed himself to be Luthor Tyrell. He caught his breath when he saw her. "There you are! I thought I'd find you here."

 

"Well, you did point me in this direction," Olenna retorted.

 

Luthor frowned at her, glancing down at the dusty hem of her gown and lingering on her flushed cheeks. "Is something wrong?"

 

"Why should something be wrong?"

 

"You look..."

 

"I lost my way. It's been too long since I last walked the labyrinth and I forgot where I was going." She forced a shrug. "You know how that annoys me."

 

"Did you find Norridge?" If she hadn't been so damned tired, if her mind hadn't still been whirling, she might have had an answer, but by the time one came to her lips it was too late. His face fell. "You saw them, didn't you?"

 

" _You_ knew?" Olenna demanded.

 

"I suspected," he said after a moment, his eyes on the ground. "If I'd known for certain, I would have told you, but they hid it well. Daeron is better at keeping secrets than he thinks."

 

Olenna's mouth worked but nothing came out.

 

"It's not...it happens, Olenna. With knights and squires, especially. I had an uncle who used to ride all over the Reach for tourneys with another knight. Nobody ever thought anything of it until he died and my grandmother told me they'd been lovers all those years. It didn't matter because he didn't need heirs."

 

"Are you saying it doesn't matter because Daeron's a younger son? He's betrothed to _me_. It matters to _me_." But even as she said it, the words sounded weak and childish. "I'm supposed to be Princess of Summerhall."

 

"Nobody's stopping you," said Luthor. "Some of those men are married. My uncle never did because there wasn't any advantage to be had. And you know what they say about Dorne..."

 

"Don't talk to me about Dorne. We aren't _in_ Dorne."

 

"I sometimes wonder if they have the right of it." At her incredulous expression, he smiled. "I don't say that around my father, mind, but both Daeron and Norridge are good men and good knights. Whatever they do with one another is their business, not mine."

 

"But you must understand how it's mine. He can't pretend that he's nobody. He's the king's son. People will be watching him, looking for scandals to use against him..."

 

"I thought you didn't care about other people." Olenna glared at him, but before she could speak, he pulled her into a bear hug. "I'm sorry you found out like that," he said, the words muffled in her hair. "Daeron should have told you, but you know how he is."

 

For all that he loved tourneys and feats of arms, Daeron hated arguments. No doubt it had a great deal to do with his family's fractious history. Olenna slipped her arms around Luthor's waist and closed her eyes against his velvet doublet. "It's strange. I should be heartbroken."

 

"He didn't do it to hurt you and you know that. You're too sensible to be heartbroken about something that's not your fault or his."

 

Olenna let out an unexpected snort of laughter. "Careful. Or I'll start sending your mother's ladies to you when they complain to me of their young men. Go speak to Lord Luthor, the oracle of love."

 

"And I'll blame you when my advice goes horribly wrong," he replied. Olenna couldn't hide her smile at that. "There she is. My Olenna. Always one step ahead."

 

"Thank you, Luthor," Olenna murmured after a moment. "I mean that."

 

"I know you do. Now," he said, stepping away from her, "between the two of us, I hope we can get out of here. Father's expecting me in his study and I'm sure I'm already late."

 

"You're always late."

 

"We all have reputations to uphold, some better than others."

 

***

 

Luthor must have spoken to Daeron and Jeremy, for the two of them gave Olenna a wide berth for the next several weeks. Even more helpful was Daeron's departure, with Jeremy, to attend his sister Princess Rhaelle's wedding to Lord Ormund Baratheon at Storm's End. Olenna would normally have clamoured to go with them, but instead she held her tongue, noting Lady Tyrell's curious glances, but not answering them.

 

Daeron was gone for nearly two moon's turns. Olenna took the time to wander through the many hidden bowers of Highgarden, deep in thought, with no fears of what she might find if she rounded the wrong corner at the wrong time. More often than not, Luthor accompanied her, even if they did not speak, and when they did, it was usually about the latest news from court or whichever visitors or petitioners were demanding Luthor's attention. Lord Tyrell had decided to put Luthor fully in charge of handling all petitions and grievances brought to Highgarden after the turn of the year.

 

"He's not as young as he once was, or so he keeps reminding me," Luthor said to Olenna as she gathered the finest blooms she could find to make crowns of flowers for the New Year's masque. "I wish there were some way to explain to him that I don't enjoy hearing about his imminent death as much as he seems to enjoy talking about it."

 

"Just tell him that," suggested Olenna. "I'm sure he'll understand."

 

"Maybe you should tell him. He's half-convinced that all of my best ideas come from you."

 

"You mean they don't?" she teased. At his glare, she had to laugh. "Oh, come now, you know I don't meant that."

 

"Gormon is the clever one. He's already forged five links at the Citadel and he hasn't even been there two years."

 

"There are other kinds of cleverness, Luthor. You'll make a fine lord of Highgarden when the time comes, but the gods willing it won't come soon."

 

When the basket was full, they started back toward Lady Tyrell's solar, although the high-pitched shrieks and giggles from within made Luthor hesitate visibly in the corridor. Laughing, Olenna took the basket of flowers from him. "I'll spare you the torment. See you at the feast."

 

The subject of the masque was Florian and Jonquil, and Olenna's role was comparatively small, as Lady Tyrell had put her in charge of keeping the younger girls in line. Jonquil was played by beautiful Jocelyn Rowan with pink roses plaited through her golden hair, while Luthor's younger brother Garth, who was of an age with Olenna, played Florian. Had Daeron been there, he would no doubt have been corralled into joining the masque as well, even though Luthor begged off, claiming his father had given him orders.

 

The masque accompanied the last four courses of the banquet and concluded to wild applause from the guests, all of whom had been well sated on Arbor gold and Highgarden rose wine. From the corner of her eye, Olenna saw Luthor raise his glass as she curtsied with the rest of the ladies, but as she straightened, she saw the pale-haired figure beside him and realised with a jolt that Daeron had returned.

 

Turning on her heel, she darted into the crowd of Lady Tyrell's attendants even as they began to scatter, seeking dancing partners and young men to bring them wine and sweetmeats.

 

"You look beautiful, Olenna," said Daeron from behind her. Very slowly, Olenna turned to face him. Like the rest of the ladies, she wore Highgarden green-and-gold, though the inner layers of her sleeves were the colour of the Redwyne Straits. Both colours and the golden mask brought out the gold glints in her auburn hair, and she kept her eyes on his as she offered him a graceful curtsy.

 

"You're too kind, my lord," she replied coolly. "I didn't know you would be back for the feast."

 

"We made better time than expected." She ignored the hurt expression on his face. "You're well, I hope?"

 

"The masque went off without a hitch, so I can't see why not. How is your sister?"

 

"She seems happy, as does Lord Ormund. She was disappointed not to meet you after all these years, but I told her that if she visited Highgarden, you would be the best person to show it off to her." Daeron moved closer. "Olenna, may I speak with you?"

 

"Aren't we doing that right now?"

 

"You know what I mean." After a moment, she nodded, letting him take her arm to lead her out of the Great Hall to one of the gardens built in the Dornish style during the reign of Daeron II.

 

Olenna sat on the thick marble ledge surrounding a graceful fountain, crossed her arms, and looked expectantly at Daeron. "Well?"

 

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you?"

 

"If you had been honest with me, it would have been easier for both of us. But we can't change that now. So, tell me."

 

"I meant it when I said that my sister Rhaelle is happy. In spite of how her betrothal began, in spite of all the anger and disappointment, she's grown fond of Lord Ormund and he's..." A smile flashed across Daeron's face. "He's completely smitten with her. Not that I can blame him. Rhaelle was always the kindest and sweetest of us."

 

"I'm happy to hear it." Strangely enough, she meant it. "Truly. Your sister didn't deserve to be made a pawn for your elder brother's poor decisions." Olenna untied the golden mask and set it in her lap, meeting its empty eyes. "What shall we do, then, Daeron?"

 

Daeron sank onto the ledge beside her. "I told Rhaelle what happened. Everything. She said you were right, by the way. That I ought to have told you long ago."

 

"How long have you...how long has this been going on, Daeron?"

 

"Two years now, almost to the day. It was the New Year feast. We'd all had too much to drink and you fell asleep on Luthor's shoulder, so he carried you back indoors, and..." Daeron glanced at her, his cheeks red. "It just happened. We told ourselves it wouldn't happen again, but..."

 

"Do you love him?"

 

"I can't imagine being happy without him. If that's what love means, then yes." He tilted his head back to gaze up at the moon. "I saw what love did to Duncan, to Jaehaerys and Shaera. It made them selfish, blind to anything but what they wanted. But I've also seen my parents. They married for love and they only ever wanted what was good for the realm."

 

Olenna followed his gaze skyward. "If you could be anything in the world, Daeron, what would it be?"

 

"A hedge knight." When she glanced at him in surprise, he laughed. "I used to chase Ser Duncan around the Red Keep demanding stories of the days when my father was his squire. I wanted to hear all of them over and over. He asked me once if I wanted stories of the Kingsguard, but I didn't. For me, being a knight was riding in tourneys, taking service with a lord or two, helping the smallfolk. Just like Ser Duncan."

 

"Hedge knights don't have wives or families. Not if they know what's good for them."

 

"You asked me what I would be if I had my choice." He shrugged. "It's the truth. I care for you, Olenna, but...I don't want a castle and lands and tenants and bannermen. I never did. If Duncan were still Prince of Dragonstone, it would be easier, but Jaehaerys and Shaera have two children now and they're young yet. And Rhaelle is married too and she'll have children of her own."

 

Another broken betrothal. Olenna stared down at the mask in her lap. "Would your father allow you to run off and be a hedge knight?"

 

"He wouldn't be happy, not after all that's happened. But," he said after a moment, "if we _both_ asked for an end to the betrothal, maybe he might understand. Your parents too."

 

Olenna could imagine the disappointment on her mother's face. She was a Hightower, after all, and long ago Alicent Hightower had been a mother to kings. _But she also started a war_. "And what would I do while you roamed about the realm riding in tourneys and saving smallfolk?"

 

Daeron's laughter caught her by surprise, and Olenna's head snapped up so she could glare at him. "Are you serious? Isn't it completely obvious what you'd do?"

 

"Clearly not," she snapped. "I've spent nearly half my life betrothed to you, Daeron Targaryen."

 

"You've also spent near as much time here in Highgarden," he replied. "Lady Tyrell would happily trade one of her sons for you, and as for Luthor, well..."

 

"Well _what_?"

 

"He's been half in love with you since before Shaera broke off their betrothal. I don't know if he knew it then, but it's bloody obvious that he knows it now. I don't think I've ever seen him angrier than when he confronted me before I went to Storm's End." At her expression, he grinned. "I almost wish he was here so he could see your face right now. But, yes. I become a hedge knight and you become the next lady of Highgarden. I can't think of a better choice, and I'm sure Lord and Lady Tyrell would agree."

 

It was no royal match, to be sure, but it seemed to Olenna that marriage to Highgarden's heir might even trump a match with the king's youngest son. The Tyrells were wealthy beyond reckoning, their holdings and power unquestioned across the Reach. And as for Luthor... "He never told me."

 

"Would you have listened?"

 

 _My Olenna_ , he'd called her on that awful day in the labyrinth. She'd paid no mind to it at the time. He was just Luthor, gentle and awkward and the kindest man she knew. _If he married the wrong woman, she'd ruin him_. And she'd come to love Highgarden too--its tranquil beauty and the enormous, humming household beneath, every interconnected detail working in perfect harmony. "I would listen now," she said softly.

 

Daeron took her hands in his. "Can you forgive me?"

 

"I would have forgiven you eventually," she admitted. "Unless you got so far as to make me a terrible husband."

 

"Instead, you will have a model husband. And a dozen children."

 

"For shame. Look at how much trouble your father had with five."

 

"And yours will be far more dangerous, I predict." For a moment, he rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you, Olenna. This means the world to me."

 

"Go on, then. Find Jeremy and tell him. No doubt he's off worrying himself sick."

 

After Daeron left, she tied the mask back into place and smoothed her hair, intending to return to the Great Hall, but Luthor's voice, echoing from the entrance to the garden, stopped her. "Is it true about you and Daeron?"

 

"That depends on what you've been told," replied Olenna, glancing back at him. "If you were told that my betrothed has chosen the life of a knight errant over my dubious charms, then, yes. It is true."

 

"He's a fool."

 

Olenna smiled. "He's a Targaryen. One shouldn't expect them to make sense."

 

"Just promise me you won't leave Highgarden," said Luthor. He'd pushed his green-and-gold mask up into his hair, making it stand on end, and his nose and cheeks were red from the wine he'd drunk. Daeron was undeniably handsome in a way only others in his family could match, but there was a reassuring solidity about Luthor Tyrell that Olenna had taken for granted all these years. "You can't leave. It wouldn't be right without you."

 

"Daeron said something to me. About you."

 

"He had no business--" Luthor sighed. "I told him off, yes. Told him he was an idiot for keeping secrets from you and that if he'd truly cared for you, he would have told you about Jeremy long ago. I...might also have sent him to Storm's End with a black eye."

 

At the image that conjured, Olenna couldn't help but laugh. "He didn't mention the black eye. He did say that you were as angry as he'd ever seen you. And on my behalf."

 

"He hurt you. He may not have meant to do it and I knew it wasn't something I could fix, but..."

 

"Except that you did. Fix it, that is." Olenna reached for his hands. Even in her tallest shoes, the top of her head barely grazed his shoulder. "You were here, Luthor. You've always been here, even when I didn't notice. I might be as great a fool as Daeron in my own way."

 

"Then stop being one. Leave Daeron to his tourneys, and stay here with me."

 

"So speaks Luthor Tyrell, oracle of love?"

 

"I do love you, you infuriating woman," he muttered. "For all your cleverness, it's taken you far too long to figure that out."

 

Unable to think of a better rejoinder, Olenna kissed him. Above their heads, the night sky exploded with fireworks as the bells in the sept tolled the turn of the year.

 

***

 

Luthor and Olenna were married in the sept in Highgarden after eight moon's turns, and while the ceremony itself was hardly noteworthy--at least in Olenna's opinion--the guest list included not one but two members of the royal family. Daeron was there, cheerfully enduring the stares and whispers while dancing attendance on his pregnant younger sister Rhaelle, who had made the journey from Storm's End alongside her husband Lord Ormund Baratheon. In return, when their son Steffon was born toward the end of the year, Olenna and Luthor travelled to the seaside citadel to congratulate them in person.

 

Rhaelle Targaryen was a delicate, dark-haired girl with her family's striking violet eyes. She was barely two years younger than Daeron and they had spent much of their childhood together at Summerhall before Daeron was sent to Highgarden and Rhaelle to her father's court in King's Landing.

 

"I've already promised my royal father that I will send Steffon to court when he's old enough," she told Olenna, "but if I had not, rest assured I would foster him at Highgarden. I told my sister Shaera as much and suggested that Prince Aerys might do well in the Reach for several years, but she means to keep both of her children with her. At least that is what she says now. She might change her mind."

 

Olenna shrugged. "We would be honoured to have any of them, my lady."

 

"Rhaelle, please. We may not be sisters by marriage, Lady Olenna, but Daeron spoke so much and so highly of you."

 

"Likewise, my--Rhaelle." Olenna corrected herself, smiling. "And even if your son is already promised to the king, I doubt it would be difficult to convince my lord husband to send our child to Storm's End when he or she is old enough." They had kept the news under wraps for long enough, she decided. Thus far, only Lord and Lady Tyrell and Olenna's parents knew, although others might have guessed.

 

"I wondered," Rhaelle laughed. "Daeron was commenting that Lord Luthor seemed more protective than usual."

 

"We quarrelled like cats before coming here. He thought the journey would hurt the babe and I told him he was being ridiculous. Men simply don't understand these things."

 

"Ormund tried to make me stay in bed as soon as he found out I was pregnant. I told him all that would do is make me as round as Lady Estermont. He learned, eventually."

 

They would have stayed longer at Storm's End, but an urgent message arrived that Lord Tyrell had been taken ill. Luthor rode ahead on Olenna's encouragement and by the time she arrived, it was sadly clear that the lord of Highgarden had only a few days left. Within several weeks of the funeral, Lady Tyrell had already vacated her rooms and moved to one of the outer towers of Highgarden that gazed southward across fields of golden wheat. When Olenna protested, she merely shook her head with a faint smile. "It's your turn now. I know you'll make the best of it."

 

When their son was born, there was no question that he would be named after his grandsire. "Loras Tyrell," Luthor pronounced, squinting down at the squalling infant in his arms.

 

Olenna's father followed Lord Tyrell three years later and Ryam, now with two children of his own, became Lord of the Arbor. After the funeral, Olenna's mother made the journey to Highgarden, and Olenna was shocked at the change in her. She seemed smaller somehow; with frail, slender hands and a decided hunch to her shoulders.

 

They sat together on a stone bench and watched as Loras' nurse chased him in circles around the Dornish fountain while he shrieked and laughed.

 

"Your father was so proud of you," said Lady Yseult. "He'd told me years ago that you would make an excellent lady of Highgarden and I didn't listen."

 

"You couldn't have known what would happen. Even King Aegon didn't." Daeron's father had barely argued when he presented him with a final broken betrothal. Olenna couldn't help but feel sorry for the grand alliances that had fallen to pieces. It had only made things more difficult for the king in the end, whatever happiness it had brought to his children.

 

He was in the Westerlands now, she knew, trying to make peace between Lord Tytos Lannister's quarrelsome bannermen since their lord was evidently incapable of doing so for himself. Olenna had taken charge of her good-father's network of spies and informants, realising they stretched from Casterly Rock to the Vale with a healthy contingent in King's Landing. Her mother had been visibly impressed when she first arrived in Highgarden before presenting Olenna with a list of names to add to her web. _They will know to expect word from you_. At the top of the list was Olenna's cousin Leyton, heir to the Hightower name and the lordship of Oldtown itself, as well as her uncle Ser Gerold, who had been named to King Aegon's Kingsguard just the previous year.

 

"Have you seen Prince Daeron recently?" her mother asked, deceptively casual. "What a strange boy."

 

"He got what he wanted," replied Olenna with a smile. "He's attending his father in Lannisport, but he has promised to visit once they're finished there."

 

To Olenna's disappointment, the king's business in the Westerlands dragged on for months, but finally she received a letter from Daeron saying he and Jeremy would shortly be making their way south. It would be a journey of several weeks along the Ocean Road and the king had asked them to look into rumours of outlaws near Old Oak while they were nearby.

 

 _They call themselves the Rat, the Hawk, and the Pig, but they can't be the same men who first took those titles unless they're old and doddering by now. Of course, if they are, that will make our job far easier_.

 

It was the last she heard of Daeron until a young Dornishman arrived at Highgarden, ignoring the hostile stares and bearing the Targaryen standard, to announce in a voice hoarse with tears that Prince Daeron had been killed in a skirmish with outlaws and Ser Jeremy Norridge with him.

 

For the first time in her life, Olenna Tyrell wept for Daeron Targaryen--for a young man cut down too soon and for no purpose. She tried to tell herself he would be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olenna Tyrell comments in ASOS that she was engaged to a Targaryen prince but broke the engagement of her own accord. TWOIAF, on the other hand, claims that Daeron was responsible. I'm assuming that, as with most things, the truth is somewhere in between.
> 
> We don't get much of a description of Luthor Tyrell, and as with many things Olenna says to Sansa in those scenes in ASOS, what we have can be interpreted any number of ways. She calls him an oaf, but it seems plausible to read between the lines and interpret that she was fond of him and that their marriage was a relatively happy one. That also seems to have been the case for Rhaelle Targaryen and Ormund Baratheon, despite the unfortunate circumstances that led to their betrothal in the first place.
> 
> I did take the liberty of giving Luthor and Olenna an older son in addition to the three children--Mina, Mace, and Janna--confirmed in canon. The reason for this will be clear later on. Maester Gormon Tyrell appears in AFFC as a replacement for Archmaester Walgrave, and Lord Garth (called "Garth the Gross" in canon) is the seneschal of Highgarden first for Luthor, and later for Mace Tyrell.
> 
> All we know about Daeron Targaryen and Jeremy Norridge are the hints in TWOIAF that Daeron broke his betrothal to Olenna not for a woman but that he was especially fond of Jeremy. I've chosen to read the obvious into that, and it really wouldn't surprise me if one of Aegon V's children did in fact want to follow in Duncan the Tall's footsteps as a wandering knight. Unfortunately for Daeron, it doesn't last long, as TWOIAF specifies that both he and Jeremy died in battle in 251 AC, barely five years after his engagement to Olenna came to an end.


	5. Chapter 5

_Year 258 after the Conquest_

_Year 25 of King Aegon, Fifth of that Name_

 

Olenna's first glimpse of King's Landing was deeply underwhelming. She'd visited Oldtown a dozen or so times and grown accustomed to its white walls and paved streets, the bells of the Starry Sept, and the lazy currents of the Honeywine. Compared to that, the capital seemed a noisy, chaotic mess, though she allowed that the towers of the Red Keep on Aegon's High Hill were impressive enough from a distance.

 

Loras had been chattering nonstop about wanting to meet Ser Duncan the Tall, even though Olenna had warned him that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had many important duties and might not have the time to speak to a young boy. She had written to her uncle Ser Gerold to see if anything could be arranged, however. Loras would not be returning with them to Highgarden, instead sailing with Lord and Lady Baratheon to Storm's End where he would take up his position as Lord Baratheon's newest squire alongside his son Steffon.

 

Queen Betha, who had been writing back and forth with Olenna since the death of Lady Redwyne earlier in the year, had asked to be introduced to Mina, though she was still far too young to come to court. Eventually, Olenna hoped she might make a suitable companion for Princess Rhaella, whose wedding they were travelling so far to celebrate.

 

It was one of many times she wished Daeron were still alive so she could ask him what on earth possessed his elder brother and sister to marry their two children off to one another. She'd asked Rhaelle in her last letter to Storm's End but there hadn't been time for a reply before their departure. Before the royal messenger arrived in Highgarden, she'd half-expected news of an engagement between the princess and Lord Tytos Lannister's son, who had spent the past five years at court and was, by all accounts, an impressive young man.

 

Of course, if there was to be anything left of the Lannister inheritance, young Lord Tywin would need to make drastic changes to his father's foolish ways. Olenna's good-father had been right to keep an eye on Lord Tytos' troubles, though Luthor was reluctant to take as much advantage of them as his father might have wished. Under different circumstances, Olenna would have given more than a little consideration to a match between Mina and one of Lord Tytos' several sons, but he'd most recently betrothed his eldest daughter to--of all people--a Frey of the Crossing, and neither Olenna nor Luthor could possibly imagine that ending well.

 

They were given rooms in the Red Keep itself, in one of the outer towers with a window overlooking the godswood. Beyond it, Olenna could see the massive walls of Maegor's Holdfast and, to Loras' glee, they could just catch a glimpse of the White Sword Tower, where the Kingsguard were quartered. Over the next several days, Olenna slowly got her bearings in the unfamiliar castle while Luthor spent most of his time with the Small Council in his position as Warden of the South.

 

"There are rumours from the Free Cities of another Blackfyre pretender," Luthor told her late one night. "Maelys the Monstrous, he calls himself, and he's taken command of the Golden Company."

 

"They never stop trying, do they?"

 

"Well, this time he has friends, or allies at the very least. Including one of our own," said Luthor, sighing. "Do you remember Derrick Fossoway?"

 

Olenna shuddered. One of the Lord of New Barrel's sons had inexplicably turned outlaw and Luthor had sentenced him to lifelong exile in the Free Cities after he and three others had murdered several families of smallfolk on their way to the Ashford fair. "Monstrous, indeed."

 

"The others are sellswords and pirates, the so-called the Band of Nine. Maelys, of course, means to take the Iron Throne."

 

"The Blackfyres have never lacked for persistence, though one wishes they'd put their efforts to more productive ends." Olenna squinted at her husband in the darkness. "What did the king say?"

 

"He means to keep an eye on them, but this Maelys is no Bittersteel, or so he claims. Prince Duncan just laughed and said that crowns were clearly being sold for nine a penny if these malcontents thought they even had a chance."

 

Olenna had been introduced to Prince Duncan and to the famous Lady Jenny, a handsome woman with long red hair who clearly hated the attention she drew from curious courtiers. They still had no children. Nor had Princess Shaera and Prince Jaehaerys had any in addition to the prospective bride and groom. Mother and daughter alike were pale and fragile-looking, as though a stiff breeze might snap them in half. _And they are the future of the Targaryens_. No wonder worry lines were so deeply carved into King Aegon's face.

 

On the day before the wedding, Olenna took Mina with her to Maegor's Holdfast where Queen Betha was waiting to meet with them. The queen's hair was now more grey than black, but her eyes remained sharp and alert as she examined Olenna. "You look well, Lady Tyrell. And this must be Lady Mina."

 

"Your Grace," murmured Mina. Her curtsey was a little wobbly, but Olenna caught a brief smile from the queen.

 

"How do you find King's Landing?"

 

Mina glanced up at her mother, and then at the queen. "It's not as pretty as Highgarden."

 

Queen Betha laughed. "Well, nobody would disagree with that. You are very lucky. But why don't you go with Princess Rhaella to the godswood while I speak with your mother?"

 

The princess stepped out from a curtained alcove and held out one hand to Mina with a smile that transformed her face from sickly to remarkably pretty. "I'd love to hear all about Highgarden, Lady Mina."

 

They waited until the echo of Mina's voice faded down the stairwell before Queen Betha turned back to Olenna. "If there were any way to change my son and daughter's minds, the Mother knows I would."

 

"She's so young," Olenna observed. "I must admit I don't understand it myself."

 

"Neither do I, but I'm not one of them. Not really." Queen Betha shook her head. "That's what Jaehaerys tells me. My own son, my own flesh and blood. He tells me I can't possibly understand."

 

"What does the king think?" asked Olenna as the queen motioned for her to sit on a small cushioned chair. A servant brought her a glass of wine--Arbor gold, she noted approvingly. "Does he approve?"

 

"He doesn't, but he also knows they won't listen to him. After all, he's guilty by association. He intended to marry them off elsewhere and I don't think Jaehaerys and Shaera ever forgave him for that." With a sigh, she looked down at her exquisitely patterned skirts. "And he has more urgent concerns. There are too many great lords chafing at his reforms. Your husband is one of the few who hasn't openly challenged him and I thank you for it."

 

The king's reforms had impacted Highgarden far less than other parts of the realm, no doubt owing in part to the wealth and resources of the Reach. The lords of the Riverlands and Westerlands were especially offended, insisting that the king was depriving them of their ancient rights and liberties, and even Olenna's cousins in Oldtown had voiced complaints, albeit less forcefully. Luthor had remarked to Olenna some years before that the Tyrells had the dubious advantage of having begun as stewards rather than petty kings and were therefore less attached to any imagined ancient rights.

 

"We know where our loyalties lie," was what she said now with an inclination of her head. "The princess seems a sweet girl. Why must she be married so young?" Princess Shaera had run off with her brother at fourteen, but surely that was reason enough to counsel against an early marriage for her daughter.

 

Queen Betha shrugged. "Targaryen reasons. The sorts of reasons my children will not explain to me."

 

All the pomp and expense in the world couldn't disguise the bride and groom's dissatisfaction the next morning in the Great Sept of Baelor. Though the sun gleamed majestically through the stained-glass windows and sparkled on the High Septon's great crystal tiara, though Princess Rhaella gleamed in cloth-of-gold with diamonds in her long silvery hair and Prince Aerys stood straight and graceful in Targaryen black-and-red, they scarcely looked at one another.

 

Still, a cheer went up from the assembled crowd when Prince Aerys tied the black velvet bride's cloak around his sister's shoulders and, as the bride and groom swept past them, Princess Rhaella briefly met Mina's eyes and took the golden rose from her outstretched hand. Olenna squeezed her daughter's shoulder as Mina grinned up at her, oblivious to anything save the spectacle.

 

The Highgarden contingent left several days after the wedding, except for Loras, who cheerfully joined Steffon Baratheon while Olenna bit back an utterly unexpected desire to cling to her son for just a few more moments. Luthor slipped his arm around her and murmured, "You'll see him soon enough. Lord Ormund is already planning a tourney for the end of the year."

 

Steffon was a tall, stocky boy with black Baratheon hair and blue eyes and he and Loras had spent much of their time looking for Kingsguard knights to tell them stories. He was also clearly in awe of the king's cupbearer Tywin Lannister, four or five years his senior with the bearing of a man twice his age and an unsettlingly direct gaze. Still, Lord Tywin greeted Olenna with impeccable manners, which was more than she could say for his father on the small handful of occasions on which she'd met him. He was also a close friend of Prince Aerys, which would no doubt work to both of their advantages.

 

Despite the lack of Loras, it was a relief to return to Highgarden, and the seemingly endless list of duties that had piled up during their absence kept Olenna busy for several moon's turns. Mace, now three years old, was full of questions that Olenna had no patience to answer, but somehow Luthor always found it, for which she was grateful. Still, she took a few moments after a letter arrived from Queen Betha in King's Landing to pause in the sept and say a prayer to the Mother for Princess Rhaella, who was with child. Even Mina had frowned on hearing the news. _She doesn't seem old enough to have a baby_. Olenna couldn't disagree, and vowed to herself that her daughter would not marry until she was at least ten and eight.

 

She and Luthor did pay a visit to the princess when she travelled to Summerhall after the turn of the year, where it had apparently been decided that she would spend her confinement and give birth. Prince Aerys had not yet arrived from King's Landing, but Princess Rhaella let slip that the entire royal family was to be in attendance.

 

"The king wishes to celebrate the birth of his great-grandson," she said. "At least they all tell me I carry a son."

 

"Even if not," said Olenna with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "you have plenty of time. And, truth be told, daughters are far less trouble."

 

A faint smile crossed the princess' face. "My mother might claim otherwise."

 

Olenna could hardly imagine the frail princess causing anyone trouble, but there was much about Rhaella Targaryen and her mother that she did not know. There had been rumours before her marriage of a tourney at Storm's End where the princess had been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by a young knight of the Reach whose name Olenna could no longer remember, but that was a transgression that barely merited the title.

 

They returned to Highgarden before the rest of the royal family arrived, on the assumption that this was to be a family occasion rather than one for the court, and had barely been home for a fortnight when the raven arrived from Storm's End bearing tidings that swept all the realm into mourning.

 

For the first few days, nobody knew what had happened, save that the king, the queen, and Prince Duncan were all dead and that the glorious palace of Summerhall was no more. Slowly, rumours began to swirl about a massive fire that had melted the palace's very walls and consumed all the poor souls trapped within. Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera had survived, as had their two children, and Princess Rhaella had miraculously given birth to a son even as the fires raged elsewhere in the palace.

 

The king, it seemed, had been trying to hatch dragon's eggs. Olenna couldn't help but remember Queen Betha's words before her granddaughter's wedding. _Targaryen reasons. I'm not one of them_. And yet she had died with them.

 

For the first time in many years, she feared for the future.

 

***

 

King Jaehaerys, Second of that Name, had scarcely been on his throne half a year when word arrived that Maelys the Monstrous and his band of cutthroat sellswords had reached the Stepstones. Within days of the summons, Highgarden had called its banners and, in an uneasy show of unity, the forces of the Reach and the Stormlands waited alongside those of Dorne to cross to the islands and engage the pretender under the command of Lord Ormund Baratheon, now Hand of the King.

 

They called it the War of the Ninepenny Kings for reasons Olenna never quite understood, as there were neither nine kings nor a surfeit of pennies involved. Perhaps it was simply that the latest and last of the Blackfyre pretenders came to a sticky end on the Stepstones after months of skirmishes and bloodshed.

 

It had not mattered one bit to her, because all she had been able to see was the body of her eldest son when the silent sisters brought him home to Highgarden, accompanied by a young knight from the Riverlands.

 

"Lord Baratheon--the Warrior's grace be upon him--was cut down by Maelys the Monstrous. He died in the arms of his son, Lord Steffon. Your son ought to have left the field, but Lord Loras..."

 

Olenna already knew what he would say. Her son died a valiant death in battle, as every young knight longed to do. Never mind that Loras was only three and ten, and not even a knight, and Lord Steffon a bare six months older, far too young to inherit Storm's End. "Was it quick, Ser Brynden?"

 

Surprise flashed across the young man's face, but he answered nonetheless. "He did not linger, my lady. I swear on my honour."

 

They had dressed Loras in bits of mismatched armour since he hadn't any of his own. Another three years, four at most--Luthor had already spoken of the great tournament he intended to hold to celebrate his heir's coming of age. Not anymore.

 

Olenna stood, conscious suddenly that all eyes were upon her. "Ser Brynden, the hospitality of Highgarden is yours as long as you wish of it. I must beg your indulgence, however, to retire." Without waiting for his response, she stepped down from the dais and left the hall, tracing the accustomed path to the sept.

 

She sank to her knees before the statue of the Mother--this was not a prayer for the Warrior, no matter how her son died; only the Mother could understand. The tears spilled, hot and sticky, across her cheeks, mingled with the metallic tang of blood from where she'd bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming aloud in the hall.

 

It was a bare few minutes before she heard her husband calling her name and stood, painfully. Luthor fell to his knees in front of her, face buried in her skirts, whispering over and over to forgive him. "I should never have let him go, but he begged me. Told me he was a man grown, that it was his chance to prove himself--"

 

" _We_ should never have let him go," she said, the words echoing louder than she expected across the cold, stone room. She sank to the floor and clasped his hands in hers. "I would have taken half the credit had he succeeded--do not deny me half the blame for his death."

 

The word tasted like ashes in her mouth and she nearly choked on it. Her husband's arms held her fast and she clung to him as though he were the only thing anchoring her.

 

"We have another son," she heard herself saying, each word gritted out. Mace was barely four years old, too young for such a burden. "And if, gods forbid, something should happen to Mace, Mina shall be Lady of Highgarden." Her clever, sweet girl. They would need to find her a husband sooner now than expected. Some part of Olenna's mind rebelled against such inappropriate practicalities. What sort of mother thought of betrothals when her eldest son lay dead a bare few doors away?

 

 _The Lady of Highgarden_. Olenna straightened in her husband's arms and her eyes met the Mother's. For a second, it seemed her own mother's face was looking back at her, amusement and exasperation as ever mingling in her smile. Highgarden's lady had no time for grief. Not when they had lost the heir.

 

As expected, the first suitors for their suddenly more eligible daughter began to arrive within weeks of Loras' funeral. From all over the Reach and beyond, they poured into Highgarden, telling Mina the same lies Olenna's suitors had told her lifetimes before. Both she and Luthor stood firm in their refusal to promise Mina to anybody before her fifteenth name day and, some six moon's turns after Loras' death, Olenna found herself with child again.

 

When their second daughter was born, Luthor simply smiled at Olenna. "There's still time for another son," he assured her. And Janna was a sweet, well-tempered child.

 

As Olenna slowly recovered from the birth, word spilled in first from the Stormlands that Steffon Baratheon had married the daughter of Lord Estermont, three years his senior, and then from Lannisport that two of Lord Tytos Lannister's over-mightiest bannermen had been not so much defeated as wholly annihilated by his eldest son.

 

The messenger who brought the news looked greensick as he spoke of the destroyed houses of Tarbeck and Reyne, one by fire and the other by water. There was even a song that reached Highgarden after two or three moon's turns. _And now the rains weep o'er his hall with not a soul to hear_.

 

"I may not care for his methods," admitted Luthor, "but one cannot argue the results. Those two lords alone would have bled Lord Tytos' coffers dry."

 

"Perhaps it's for the best, then, that you did not press your advantage on him when you had the chance," Olenna observed. "His son does not seem to be in the forgiving vein."

 

"Nor would I be, in his position. But I don't think it would have fallen out thus if King Aegon were still alive."

 

King Jaehaerys had revoked many of his father's more controversial policies, thus making him far more popular with the lords even as the smallfolk murmured against it. Nonetheless, had there been any members of House Reyne or House Tarbeck left to protest, Olenna suspected the king would have stayed out of the dispute on the assumption that, as their liege lord's son, Lord Tywin Lannister was within his rights to punish his bannermen as he saw fit.

 

What else the king might have done would remain a mystery, however, as he fell gravely ill and, soon after the turn of the year, mourning bells were ringing across the realm. Prince Aerys, ten and eight years old, was now Aerys, Second of that Name, and the king on the Iron Throne. His first act was to name Tywin Lannister Hand of the King.

 

Rhaelle had written to Olenna from Storm's End to announce that her good-daughter was expecting a child and added, almost in passing, that she hoped Lord Tywin would be a steadying influence on her nephew. _Aerys is easily led, but that can be a good thing if the man leading him has sense and judgement_. Olenna hoped that was true, for all their sakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only confirmed deaths during the destruction of Summerhall are Aegon V, his son Prince Duncan, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall. Although I'm sure others also died in the fire, we know for certain that Aerys and Rhaella survived (obviously), and that both of their parents escaped as well. There is no indication of whether or not Rhaelle was present, and Daeron by that point was already dead. I have included Betha Blackwood among those who died because I can't think of a reason why she wouldn't have been there with her husband and sons.
> 
> We aren't given an exact birth order or birth dates for Olenna's three canonical children, except that Mace is approximately ten years older than Cersei Lannister (who is born in 266 AC) and that his eldest son Willas was born at some point prior to 276 AC. Olenna's daughter Mina is married in canon to her cousin Paxter Redwyne and has three children, the eldest of whom (a pair of twins) participate as knights in the Tourney of the Hand early in AGOT, suggesting that they're at least in their late teens (more probably early twenties) by 298 AC. All we know about Janna is that she's married to Jon Fossoway and no children are mentioned.
> 
> TWOIAF makes clear that Jaehaerys and Shaera Targaryen had far more conservative views than their father Aegon V and they were the driving force behind the unhappy marriage of their children Aerys and Rhaella. Rhaella Targaryen is fifteen at most when she gives birth to Rhaegar, and I'm operating on the assumption that the reason her parents insisted that she marry so young was the prophecy about the Prince Who Was Promised, who everyone believed was Rhaegar. However, I'm also assuming that the prophecy wasn't widely known outside the royal family and their immediate circle (i.e. the Kingsguard and maybe the Small Council). For instance, Tywin Lannister makes no mention of it at any point, and it's implied that he was one of Aerys' closest friends at least early in life.
> 
> Although we have death dates for both Ormund Baratheon (260 AC) and Jaehaerys II (262 AC), we aren't given any indication when Shaera and Rhaelle Targaryen die. I have therefore assumed that both outlive their husbands, at least for a short while.


	6. Chapter 6

_Year 272 after the Conquest_

_Year 10 of King Aerys, Second of that Name_

 

Joanna Lannister was young enough to be Olenna's daughter--indeed, her father Lord Jason was Olenna's age, and she remembered his second marriage and the rumours that had accompanied it. But Joanna was a capable, elegant woman, already mother to a pair of twins and, reportedly, the only person whose influence on the Hand of the King went unquestioned.

 

The king himself was due to arrive at Highgarden with Prince Rhaegar and Lord Tywin the following day, although Queen Rhaella had remained in King's Landing, as she was too close to her latest confinement to travel safely. She had already sent Olenna a letter of apology accompanied by a beautiful wedding chalice carved with alternating Tyrell roses and Hightower turrets that would grace the high table during the feast.

 

"The gods willing, Her Grace won't lose this babe," said Lady Joanna with a shudder as they sat side-by-side in the Great Hall going over dancing partners for the masque that would accompany the last several courses of the wedding banquet. The bride was the centre of the display, of course, playing the part of Queen Naerys, while her brother played Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. "Two in the past two years alone. I don't know how she can stand it." One hand went to her belly in an unconscious gesture.

 

Olenna smiled. "How far along are you?"

 

"I know when it must have happened, but it still doesn't quite seem real. Three moon's turns to the day. It was the anniversary tourney in King's Landing." Lady Joanna glanced curiously at her. "Your husband and son were there, my lady, but you were not."

 

"I am too old to travel for tourneys, my dear," Olenna pronounced. "They're a ridiculous waste of time, but men love beating one another with sticks. Or in my Luthor's case, wagering money on other men beating one another with sticks." She didn't speak of what else Luthor had told her of the king's anniversary tourney--yet another quarrel between King Aerys and his Hand. _Even a king ought to know better than to bait this lion. It is not so many years gone since the rains of Castamere_. "Does your husband know?"

 

"Not yet. I mean to tell him when he arrives." Her smile had more than a little mischief in it. "He'll tell me off for not going straight home."

 

"If he does, you can tell him it's all nonsense. I rode to Oldtown and back when I was six months gone with Mace and he's healthy as a horse." What her son lacked in brains, he at least had the good sense to listen to his father and to her. _And he'll listen to his wife_ , she was able to tell herself with confidence.

 

Alerie Hightower was the second daughter of Olenna's cousin Leyton, a pretty, buxom girl with pale gold hair and grey-green eyes. They had considered her elder sister, but Malora refused to leave Oldtown and Leyton evidently saw no harm in indulging her more peculiar tendencies.

 

What had decided the matter, however, was the expression on her son's face as he left the room after spending nearly three hours with Alerie. "He looks as though someone dropped a brick on his head," muttered Olenna to Luthor, who slipped an arm around her shoulder and grinned.

 

"Then I daresay she's the right choice for him."

 

The intervening months of planning had given Olenna no indications to the contrary. Alerie was clearly in awe of her--as, Olenna was proud to admit, she ought to be--but that did not stop her from arguing with her prospective good-mother when it suited her. Upon hearing that the king and prince would be in attendance, it was Alerie who insisted on changing the subject of the masque from an early tale of the Gardeners to the story of the Knight of Tears. At the time, they had assumed the queen would also come, but even after the news of the royal confinement arrived, Olenna saw no reason to change their plan yet again.

 

"And how are your children, Lady Joanna? Twins, if I'm remembering rightly?"

 

"Jaime and Cersei, yes," she said. "If I had been coming from Casterly Rock I would have brought them. Jaime was so disappointed to miss the tourney, but you know how boys are at that age."

 

"Trouble is what they are. My Loras--may the gods give him peace--wanted nothing more than to be a knight of the Kingsguard." Even now, his name lanced through her heart, after all these years. With a shake of her head, she continued, "Thankfully we discouraged Mace from such notions. Lord of Highgarden is more than enough responsibility. No doubt it helped that his father was here to guide him. We may have fostered Loras too early."

 

"I confess there are days when I wish Tywin would resign his Handship, but..." Lady Joanna paused for a moment, "I also know that if he did, he would not be the man I married."

 

"From all I hear, he has done a great deal of good these past ten years. A remarkable man, your husband."

 

"He is."

 

"And no doubt much of that he owes to you," Olenna observed. To her credit, Lady Joanna made no simpering reply; merely smiled in a manner Olenna knew well. "I would assume that you mean for your daughter to join the queen's ladies in waiting."

 

"Tywin wants her to go to court and I understand why, but..." A frown sketched itself between her brows. "There are things even he cannot control."

 

"You mean the king." Something blank and shuttered fell across Lady Joanna's face. "Oh, come now, my dear. King Aerys is many things but subtle is not one of them. I never blame a woman for a man's foolishness, nor can I blame you for wanting to keep your daughter away from him."

 

"I hate that place," whispered Lady Joanna. "The way they whisper, the way they look at me, as though _I_ was the one who..." She stopped, pressing her lips tightly together. "I won't let that happen to Cersei."

 

And, had it been up to her, Olenna was certain she would have done so, but less than three moon's turns into the new year came word from Lannisport that Lady Joanna had died in childbed. Even worse, the child she bore was a misshapen, malformed dwarf. The king might have taken the chance to lord it over his grieving Hand, save that his own son, Prince Aegon, born two months early, had also died.

 

Olenna found her good-daughter weeping in the sept before the Mother's shrine. "She was so kind to me at the wedding," said Alerie between sniffles. "The way Lord Tywin looked at her. It must be so awful for him, and for their poor children."

 

Lord Tywin had departed for King's Landing within several weeks of his wife's death and reportedly refused to speak of her to anyone. Olenna placed one hand on her good-daughter's shoulder. "Women die in childbed all the time, I'm afraid. And sometimes the alternative is even worse," she added, thinking of Queen Rhaella. "But you are strong, my dear. Stronger than you think."

 

"I'm not with child, my lady. Not yet, anyway."

 

"I hope you aren't trying to apologise for that. I thought you more sensible. And if Mace is giving you trouble..."

 

Alerie gave a watery laugh. "No, good-mother, he isn't. No trouble that I can't handle."

 

"Well, good. I'd hate to think I'd raised him that poorly." She knew better, of course, but it never hurt to remind new wives that their husbands' faults were not insurmountable.

 

***

 

"He _what_?"

 

Olenna's first impulse was to laugh. Her second was to scream. Instead, digging her fingernails into the burnished wood of her chair, she glared at the young man now kneeling before her.

 

"It was the horse, my lady. He lost control of the beast and..." His lip was wobbling and she could see tears in his eyes. Luthor's squires had always worshipped him, never mind that he rarely if ever entered the lists or did anything of particular note as a warrior. "The fall broke his neck. He was dead when we found him."

 

The horse had come from Dorne, specifically from the Princess of Dorne's ne'er-do-well younger son, who had made a name for himself as a breeder and trainer only secondary to his reputation for fighting and whoring. Luthor had always fancied himself an expert horseman, even if Olenna privately disagreed. _I should have stopped him. Those Dornish beasts are half-wild; everyone knows that_. Luthor had known that. But it was his weakness, his ridiculous desire to tell himself he was still a young man.

 

Olenna motioned for the squire to rise, not trusting her voice at first. "Have you brought him back?" she asked.

 

"We took him to the sept, my lady."

 

"Send for the Silent Sisters." Her eyes met those of her good-brother Garth, who had been Luthor's seneschal these past fifteen years. "As for the funeral arrangements..."

 

"I'll take care of it," he said, his voice rough with tears. "Gods have mercy, how could this happen?"

 

"Because Luthor has always been a fool for horseflesh," snapped Olenna. _Was_. Her husband was dead.

 

Even when she saw him laid out in the sept, golden coins on his eyes and clad in Highgarden green-and-gold, she scarcely believed it. Beside her, Mace's eyes and nose were red from weeping, though to his credit he stood straight and solemn. Mina had come from the Arbor with her husband, Olenna's nephew Paxter Redwyne and their twins, scarcely a year old with bright red hair. Luthor had never had the chance to see those grandchildren, although he'd spent hours with little Willas on his knee. Alerie was with child again and standing quietly at Mace's other side in spite of Maester Ulfin's pleas that she stay in her chambers.

 

The Princess of Dorne sent her elder son as envoy to Luthor's funeral and he had brought a letter from his brother Oberyn. The apology seemed sincere enough, though what had caught Olenna's eye for reasons that seemed more absurd than anything else was his greeting, _to the Lady Olenna, Queen of Thorns_. A ridiculous young man, like so many she had known over the years.

 

Mace had wanted to throw the Dornishmen out, but Alerie had stopped him. "It was an accident," she hissed. "They had no reason to harm your father." But that did not stop him from glaring at Doran Martell at every opportunity.

 

After the service, Olenna did not move, even when the mourners slowly emptied out of the sept. She didn't know how long she stood there in silence until someone took her arm and she glanced back to find her good-daughter standing there.

 

"Thank you, Alerie, for keeping Mace from embarrassing himself before," said Olenna. Her voice sounded old and creaky. _Gods, I am an old woman now_. Strange how she'd never felt it before. "You are the Lady of Highgarden now."

 

Alerie lowered her eyes. "You always will be in my eyes."

 

"Nonsense, girl," Olenna retorted, waving one hand vaguely in her direction. "It is your place and I have held it long enough. Besides, there are more interesting titles, as I've found."

 

"My lady?"

 

"What think you of the Queen of Thorns?" Alerie's startled laughter echoed strangely in the sept, and Olenna smiled at her. "There, you see? So long as I live, they will cross us at their peril."

 

"I can't think of a better title."

 

"Well, then." With one last look at the still form that had once been her husband, Olenna slowly turned to the door. "Let us go forth and introduce it to the world."

 

She kept to her promise beginning the very next day, vacating the rooms she had occupied for nearly fifty years. The tower adjacent to Highgarden's library seemed the best choice, with windows facing four different directions and a convenient passage to Maester Ulfin's quarters and the rookery.

 

Within several hours of settling herself there, one of Maester Ulfin's apprentices came huffing and puffing up the stairs with a letter that had just arrived from King's Landing. King Aerys had decided to personally intervene in a tax dispute with Lord Darklyn of Duskendale and the lord of Duskendale had taken him prisoner.

 

"Lord Tywin rode north from King's Landing the very next day, my lady," said Maester Ulfin when she spoke to him later that evening. "I can't think what would possess Lord Darklyn to imprison the _king_."

 

Olenna shrugged. "Men do foolish things. The king should have sent an envoy to deal with Lord Darklyn, and Lord Darklyn should have considered the consequences of angering both King Aerys and Lord Tywin."

 

"Should I tell Lord Tyrell, my lady?"

 

For a moment, Olenna considered. "Not yet. We'll see how it unfolds and if we are to be involved, I will tell him."

 

Let the rest of the realm think them harmless as the rose on their sigil until they reached too close and bled for it. Roses had thorns for a reason, and Olenna intended to use hers until the end of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't know much if anything at all about relations between Highgarden and Casterly Rock prior to canon. The Westerlands and the Reach do technically border one another, but the Lannisters tend to keep to themselves for the most part. We do know that Joanna Lannister was on friendly terms with the unnamed Princess of Dorne (mother to Doran, Elia, and Oberyn Martell), which might on the one hand imply friction with Highgarden, but I prefer to think that things were a bit more nuanced.
> 
> TWOIAF pinpoints two separate occasions on which Aerys II behaved inappropriately toward Joanna Lannister. The first was on her wedding night, when he took "unwonted liberties" during the bedding ritual, and the second was in 272 AC at the tourney held to celebrate his tenth year on the throne when he publicly humiliated Joanna with a comment about her losing her figure to childbearing--a grievous enough insult that Tywin Lannister resigned his Handship and had to be convinced to reconsider.
> 
> According to Olenna, Luthor Tyrell died as a result of a hunting accident, specifically while he was hawking, his horse rode off a cliff. That does seem like a very strange way to die, but the reference is specific enough that I didn't see any reason to assume otherwise.


End file.
